We had walked for a long time before daring to breathe again.

The trees slowly swallowed us, closing behind us the light and the ruins. The air grew heavier, thicker. Every breath burned my throat, saturated with mana and moisture. The Garden felt like it wanted to devour us whole.

When we were finally far enough, I let myself fall against a trunk, out of breath. The moss there was cold, soaked with water. Sylvara sat down right beside me, knees pulled up, head low. Her wings still trembled—not from fear, but from a nervous exhaustion I shared all too well.

We stayed there for a while, listening to the sound of our breaths clashing in the silence.

The wind stirred the leaves above us. There was something unsettling in that rustle—almost too alive. It felt like the forest was holding back a laugh.

Sylvara spoke first, her voice hoarse but steady.

— It's probably the heart of the dungeon… or its guardian.

I turned my head toward her.

— I thought the same.

She nodded slowly, staring into the void between the trees.

— The problem is, it's not just a beast. It's a monster. And a smart one. We can't underestimate it. And with that swarm around it… there's no way we can take it alone.

I wiped my face, still damp with sweat.

— We could go back and look for the others.

She shook her head before I could even finish.

— They were probably separated like we were.

Silence fell again. The kind that leaves you alone with your thoughts. I looked up at the branches. The light barely filtered through the thick canopy, drawing moving shapes on the ground that looked like golden eyes. I shivered.

Sylvara sighed, her gaze lost in those reflections.

— I haven't told you yet, but…Her tone had changed—lower, more measured.

— You were separated first. Then two days later, me. If I'm right, others from the Pact will be separated too. Every two days. The dungeon is tearing us apart, one by one.

I clenched my jaw.

— Then that's one more reason to act now. If we wait, we'll all end up alone. And we'll die off in corners, not even knowing if the others are still breathing.

She turned sharply toward me, eyes wide.

— And you want to fight… that? That thing? You saw it, Kaito! That's suicide!

I shrugged, a weak smile crossing my face despite myself.

— I've survived worse.

— That's not a valid reason, she muttered.

— Maybe not.

I spun Aurelia between my fingers, watching sunlight glint across the blade.

— But I can neutralize the swarm at the start. After that, it'll just be him.

Sylvara stayed silent for a moment. I could feel her gaze on me—heavy, almost too human.

— Are you sure about this? she finally asked.

I exhaled, a faint smile at the corner of my lips.

— I'll show you the power of science.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated, but her expression softened.

— Fine… but at the first sign of trouble, we pull back. Promise?

I raised an eyebrow.

— Promise.

Her smile this time was real. Tired, but real.

— Then it's settled. But before that, we rest. We'll need every ounce of strength to face that thing.

She half-lay against the trunk, arms crossed over her chest, wings folded like a cloak. I did the same. The warm ground suddenly felt welcoming. My heartbeat slowed bit by bit, syncing with Sylvara's steady breathing beside me.

Calm had returned. A real calm—not the kind that hides a storm, but the one that settles after a fear too vast to name. The golden light of evening slipped through the leaves, painting the ground with shifting patterns, warm as embers. The air smelled of soft mana and burnt sap—a scent both soothing and strange, like the memory of a fire long gone.

I had let myself slide against the trunk, arms crossed behind my head. Sylvara lay half-curled beside me, her wings folded around her like a blanket of scales and light. We didn't speak. Sometimes our breaths matched, slow, tired. I no longer knew how much time had passed—an hour, maybe more. In this world, time only existed to mock us.

She was the one who broke the silence, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

— You know, Kaito… when I was little, I always dreamed of being able to fly.

I turned to her, surprised.

— Fly? But… you were born a dragonid.

A sad smile curved her lips.

— Let me finish.

She kept her eyes on the canopy, as if speaking to someone invisible.

— I was sick. A rare illness from my home world, one that kept me from spreading my wings. And in a world where flight means everything—where strength defines your worth—I was… a reject. A mistake.

My throat tightened.

— …Sylvara…

She shook her head gently, stopping me from saying more.

— So I decided I'd never depend on anyone again. I trained without rest. I carved my body, my mind, until I silenced the shame. And when I was summoned here, I received my blessing. The day my wings finally opened, I thought the world was mine. I was proud. Too proud.

Her eyes dimmed.

— I thought I was invincible.

Silence filled the air again, broken only by the whisper of the wind.

— And then I met you, she went on.

Her voice had turned softer, almost fragile.

— At the Academy, you—the fragile human—showed me that strength isn't just about muscle or blood. You taught me patience, unity, respect. To look beyond my pride.

I laughed a little, embarrassed.

— I was mostly a stubborn idiot.

She actually laughed this time—a brief spark that made the light dance in her eyes.

— True. But a stubborn idiot who changed me.

Her words fell between us—simple, honest. The kind of truth you only say once, before a battle you might not survive.

She spoke again, lower this time.

— Yesterday, when you said I was the one you trusted the most… it meant a lot. Because I feel exactly the same about you, Kaito.

I found no words. I was afraid my voice would shatter the fragile balance of that suspended moment.

The wind brushed through the leaves above us. She turned her head, and her amber gaze met mine.

— So thank you, she murmured. For everything.

She hesitated, then added in a whisper:

— If something happens to me out there… I wanted you to know that—

I placed my hand over hers before she could go on.

— Stop.

My voice was gentler than I expected.

— We'll come back. Both of us. Alive. I swear it, Sylvara.

She stayed still, her hand warm in mine. The contact was real, grounding. Her eyes softened; a faint shimmer passed through them before she breathed out:

— Then promise me.

I tightened my grip slightly.

— I promise.

The wind rose gently, carrying with it a rain of golden petals. Some landed in her hair, on our shoulders. The light of dusk filtered through the forest, wrapping everything in a soft glow.

I stayed there, watching her for a moment, aware that in a world trying to break us apart, those few minutes of peace were worth more than any victory.

Time seemed to freeze around us, as if the Garden itself held its breath. The wind stilled, the leaves no longer moved. Only the murmur of mana beneath the earth kept pulsing softly, steady as a heartbeat.

I pushed myself up slowly, my body heavy but my mind clear. The fatigue, the fear—everything had settled, replaced by that strange calm one feels right before jumping into the void.

Sylvara stood too, her wings rustling faintly. The light of sunset slid across the azure membranes, tracing a pale halo around her.

She stretched, testing every joint, every beat of her wings. Her movements were precise, measured, disciplined. It looked less like she was preparing for battle, and more like a ritual.

The forest was drenched in amber light. Our shadows stretched across the ground, long and fragile. The air smelled of sap, dust, and fear.

She finally broke the silence, her voice calm but firm.

— Ready to dive into the jaws of the Garden?

I lifted my head toward her. Her amber gaze was steady, free of hesitation. A faint smile crossed my lips—the kind you wear when you've already accepted the worst.

— Always.

She raised an eyebrow, amused despite everything.

— Then let's go, idiot.

I laughed softly. That laugh, in that light, felt almost sacred.

A blue butterfly landed on my shoulder—a fragile spark suspended in time. Its wings beat once, twice, before it flew away in silence, tracing a glowing path toward the ruins.

Our eyes met. Nothing more needed to be said. Everything was already decided.

We followed the butterfly.

Two silhouettes lost in the golden light, walking toward the jaws of the Garden—toward the monster, toward the end or victory, it didn't matter.

That day, we walked together, carried by the same light. And I knew, with quiet certainty, that whatever awaited us, we would never turn back.

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